


Speechless

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Public Sex, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When words are forbidden, what remains?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Takes place four days after the final scene of "The Wire". 2) Written in response to this image, courtesy of Text Me DS9: http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m37mzocAhn1ruqzfqo1_1280.jpg

Silently he waited; alone, but with anticipation burning just beneath the surface of his skin; the subliminal murmur of mechanical systems his only company as he stood in front of a tall oval window and gazed at the starfield visible from the highest viewing lounge in Pylon Three. A Nevian freighter had departed twenty-eight minutes ago and a Bajoran transport was due in thirty minutes exactly: he dwelt in a lull between the goings and comings that were the lifeblood of the station, and he had no doubt that the timing had been precisely calculated.  
  
 _I have a proposition for you, my dear Doctor,_  the note on the PADD Garak had passed him over lunch (presumably to share the war poetry of the ancient Cardassian author Egarek) had said in plain letters when he'd opened the top file in his quarters after his duty shift, and his pulse had taken an upward leap as he read on:  _Quite simply, sex — no words, no talking about it afterwards, no tiresome expectations of further complications in either of our lives. I want you. If you agree to these terms, meet me in room 47-C of Pylon Three at 18:27 precisely._  He hadn't needed to hear Garak's voice to perceive the stress placed on that final word, a coded reference to one of their first interactions, even though the incident in question had taken place a little over a year ago.  
  
They'd come a long way since then, most of it in the last fourteen days. Julian had fought for so much from Garak — the truth and the spy's life, in that order — and he'd won an equivocal victory on one front and a decisive triumph on the other… but this, an invitation to draw nearer to the heart of the mystery than he'd ever imagined, was no less welcome for being so utterly unexpected. Oh, certainly Garak had flirted with him in the past, from their very first spoken exchange in fact, but Julian had let it pass, at first because he honestly wasn't certain how to react to the teasing attentions of a Cardassian operative, and later because he strongly suspected it was all a game to Garak, a way to amuse himself and to pass the interminable time so far from his beloved homeland.  
  
In short, Julian had decided that even if Garak was making overtures they weren't to be taken seriously…. but somewhere beneath all the rationalizations, he now realized that he'd wanted to believe that they were exactly that.   
  
So now he was here, trying to still the high subliminal tremor of his own eagerness when a hand descended on his shoulder with no trace of a footstep or a breath to accompany its arrival. It might as well have been a ghost behind him for all the noise Garak's approach had made, but when Julian turned on his heel he found a very solid body awaiting him, broad and strong and radiating a silent intensity that sent a spike of cold fear through his core: this, he thought, was what looking into the eyes of a tiger that had stalked to within leaping distance must be like, and realizing that one had been its prey all along.  
  
He opened his mouth to say the Cardassian's name in greeting. Snake-quick, Garak's fingertips darted to his lips and came to the most delicate rest there, reminding him:  _no words_. Instead he looked slightly down into those unblinking blue eyes and nodded once to signal both his understanding and his acquiescence. The smile he received in response, narrow and rapacious, sent his heart rate accelerating all over again: this wasn't the Garak of the Promenade, soft and pleasant as beautifully embroidered velvet, but rather the Garak he'd been privileged to catch a glimpse of in the tailor's quarters, cold and deadly as a blade… but there, beneath the chilled razor edge, its molten heart gleamed with a ferocious and fugitive light.   
  
The next thing Julian knew he was up against the wall beside the window, pinned there by hands that encircled his wrists with a strength not entirely unexpected: Cardassian males were significantly more powerful than Human males of equivalent size. Chest to chest, Garak gazed into his eyes as if reading the most secret pages of his soul, and Julian met his gaze squarely, trying to communicate… what? That he wanted this? His mere presence here said as much. That he had been waiting for this? True, even if he hadn't been fully conscious of it until Garak's words had scrolled across the PADD screen.   
  
That he loved? Yes — he wasn't  _in_  love, that was something he'd never felt for anything but a woman, but nearly losing Garak had taught him that what he experienced in this case was something other than friendship and certainly more than the circumstances of their acquaintance would seem to dictate. After all, Garak had done nothing but offer half-truths and elegantly crafted outright lies in all their time together, leading the Human he'd chosen as his Starfleet contact on a merry chase in elaborate circles…  
  
… yet the fact remained that Julian had been ready to lay down his life on Garak's behalf. Tain could have captured him, tortured him, had him executed — and he'd gone anyway, because it was the only way to save the man who had so gradually and so completely ensnared his heart. Somewhere behind all the duplicitous words lay a truth that he could sense, even if he couldn't articulate it, and it was the pursuit of that truth that had led him into the shadow of death without a second's hesitation.  
  
This, perhaps, was a taste of it: the way Garak was looking at him, wolfish and full of heat that had no need of words. And this: the pressure of Garak's stocky frame against him, belly to belly, thigh to thigh — and a hardness that mirrored and answered his own. And this: a kiss that startled him and shocked him and took his breath away in the sheer  _rightness_  of it; that made him relax in that iron grip and lean into it, lips and tongue working slowly and thoroughly; that drove home the realization that even if they never did anything like this again the memory of the next few stolen minutes would sustain them both for a very long time.   
  
Silence, unless you counted the background hum of the station and the mingled sounds of deepened breathing in the small space they shared. When Garak started to open Julian's uniform with deft fingers he didn't resist: rather he opened himself, spread to the wall with his heart pounding and his head spinning, shivering a little as the cold air chilled his skin until Garak, like a snake, stripped open his own protective camouflage and covered Julian with his reptilian heat. The intimate glide of erection against erection — Cardassian males produced an oily natural lubricant whose pungent scent wafted upward — made Julian whimper, then bite his lower lip to still the illicit sound; the kiss Garak pressed to his throat was gentle, the bite almost affectionate, and he released a long slow breath and closed his eyes and let Garak's powerful arm around his waist hold him steady and upright, bringing his own hands to the bared neck ridges and taking firm hold, driving a soft eager hiss from the Cardassian's lips which he promptly smothered against Julian's mouth.   
  
The few sounds that escaped — soft grunts, breathy murmurs, the wet glide of lips meeting and parting, the occasional click of teeth against teeth — were perfect gems of communication, requiring no elaboration in more intellectual terms. When, after a brief span of more hungry kisses, Garak pulled Julian away from the wall and turned him around and walked him backwards, he let himself be guided until his knees hit the front of one of the room's couches and he was pushed over onto it, Garak following him down but allowing perhaps ten centimetres of distance to open between them. For a long moment they simply gazed at each other across that separation; Garak was subtly panting, his ridges darkening with a hint of charcoal that Julian found fascinating in a purely medical sense. Then one of those cool grey hands caught hold of Julian's cock and began to stroke it and he arched the small of his back with a barely restrained gasp at the overwhelming rush of magnificent sensation: he'd heard it said that nobody knew how to handle a prick quite like another man, and now he was discovering how true that aphorism was, even if that other man hailed from a distinctly saurian species.   
  
But when he tried to return the favour Garak shook his head once, decisively, so he transferred both hands to the spy's face to explore and caress, and he let himself be fondled, sure that his cheeks were flushed and the head of his cock was bright red and his eyes were even darker than usual with lust — and that Garak, to judge from his expression, was drinking in every detail of the spectacle. He couldn't even ask what was coming next; usually, with women, he was the one in control, but in this unspoken exchange of power it was clear that Garak was the dominant party and instinct told Julian to lie back and take whatever he was given.  
  
And oh, it was glorious when Garak shook off his hands and slid down his body, rumbling low in his throat and drawing deep draughts of scent from Julian's skin… and his mouth… dear God, his mouth was clever and his tongue marvellously agile even without the benefit of words. Within seconds Julian was panting in earnest, his fingers sunk in that silken ebony hair and his hips pumping: slightly at first, then more emphatically, but before he could come inside that tight wet warmth Garak had pulled away and was leaning up to look at him again, his expression stern and hungry and unmistakably questioning.  
  
The answer was obvious: Julian had been formulating it for almost an hour before coming here, asking himself how far he was willing to go in a situation where spoken communication was off the table. He'd been prepared to swing the other way as well if the opportunity was offered, but had considered this outcome much more likely: a quick push and upward wriggle of his hips, a bit of tugging at the stirrups that secured his pants beneath his shoes, and his trousers and underwear were on the floor — leaving the shoes on, a nod toward modesty that wasn't going to help much if an unexpected visitor appeared and caught sight of a bare-assed Federation officer stretched out beneath a clearly aroused Obsidian Order agent… much less a Federation officer with one booted heel hooked over the back of the couch as said agent lubricated two thick fingers with a quick stroke along his own cock before slipping them up the officer's ass with a speed and confidence that made Julian's cheeks blush even more fiercely.  
  
He hadn't, of course, been able to tell Garak that he'd done this before, albeit years ago when he was in his highly experimental teens: a single encounter with a classmate on graduation night, his one previous sexual experience with another man. It had been awkward and distinctly underwhelming, nothing like this: nothing like the burn that raced from his deliciously stretched anus through his rectum and up his spine sowing lusty fire along the way, nothing like the pulse that throbbed maddeningly in his thoroughly sucked cock and made it increasingly hard to give a damn that he was being finger-fucked in a public place. He squirmed and choked back greedy moans, his fingers locked onto Garak's ridges again just above the shoulders and those sculpted scales darkening even more around his grip, telegraphing a mounting arousal to match his own.   
  
Those eyes… those incredible eyes, seeming a darker blue than usual as their gaze ran over his body with a force that was nearly palpable, lingering on his wet prick where it lay twitching against his flat belly, trying to rise even more. Julian gave up trying to moderate his own breathing and settled for harsh respirations, a suitable accompaniment to an encounter so forceful and so direct, his hooded eyes and parted lips and heaving chest sending one message:  _And I want you. NOW._  Garak didn't keep him waiting: after less than fifteen seconds of preparatory stretching he pulled his fingers out, took his erection in hand, and moved in.  
  
 _There._  Both feet in the air now, Julian bound Garak's body to his with a fervent embrace inside the Cardassian's flayed-open tunic and managed to throttle back a scream at the first half-thrust, which felt like it was cleaving him wide open — in the best possible way. A reproving growl against his throat was followed by a sharp bite, and the second stroke was easier to bear in spite of being deeper, the third inflicting delicious fullness and friction that rubbed his prostate in a flare of incandescence that forced a loud yearning cry from his swollen lips and made him cling even more desperately. He was being fucked now with steady measured strokes, raw and tight and hard, the heat and pressure driving him ever-higher at a pace that left him dizzy; staring at the ceiling didn't help, so he closed his eyes and let the helpless noises spill from his mouth, pleading, urging, commending, adoring. The sensations were so alien and the sexual pleasure so new-minted that he wondered if he was going to be able to come right up to the second when his balls drew up and their semen rushed out, spilling between their bodies in an ecstatic surge accompanied by an shrill cry of exultation; drifting down in the aftermath, he felt Garak stiffen and pulses of warm wetness filling him, so intimate that for a heartbeat he felt the shameful sting of sweet tears.   
  
And then silence again, broken only by the rush of shared breathing in slower and shallower rhythms. Garak, his face buried in the angle of Julian's neck, didn't seem inclined to move immediately, and Julian savoured the weight of his body, the imprint of scaled ridges on his own unadorned skin… but at last Garak sighed and levered himself up and off to sit upright on the far end of the couch. Julian let him go, remaining sprawled for a few more seconds in post-orgasmic languor before reluctantly pulling his legs up, swinging them over the side of the couch, and reaching for his crumpled pants.  
  
A short span of dedicated work got him back into publicly presentable condition, and when he looked up from closing the front of his uniform tunic he saw that Garak was also neatly clad once more, although his hair was a touch more dishevelled than was usually the case. With a smile, Julian reached out and smoothed down the errant strands, prompting a wary glance followed by an answering smile surprisingly impish. In response to Julian's raised eyebrow, Garak nodded, and the Human sank back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling again for a long and thoughtful moment.  
  
"Complications be damned," he said at last, his gaze sliding to Garak's face again and his mouth set in a determined line. "We're  _definitely_  repeating that experience."  
  
"My dear Doctor," Garak exclaimed, his mobile face expressing profound dismay, "I thought you'd agreed to my terms!"   
  
Julian smiled with the full force of his considerable charm. "I did — and we didn't say a word, did we?"  
  
"Maybe not," Garak huffed, evidently unimpressed, "but this certainly counts as 'afterwards', wouldn't you say?"  
  
"All right," Julian conceded, "I'll wait until tomorrow before bringing it up again. Or," and the smile became an outright grin, "I could just show up at your quarters and we'll see where things go from there." He touched a forefinger briefly to his lips. "No talking whatsoever, I promise."  
  
"I've seen what your promise is worth," Garak protested virtuously, but there was a sly curve to his lips that spoke an entirely different language.  _Perhaps,_  it said,  _I could be persuaded,_  and Julian leaned a little nearer, entering the first step in this new dance of pursuit and seduction joyfully — and knowing, after their brief interlude of pure communication uncomplicated by the distraction of words, that while Garak would never make things easy for him, he would undoubtedly always make the effort profoundly worthwhile.  
  
THE END


End file.
